


A Soft Place to Land

by thewolvescalledmehome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22841623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: When Sansa moves to the city, she's annoyed that everyone keeps reminding her that Jon's also in the city, just in case. She thinks it's because everyone believes she won't be okay on her own--she never considers that there's another reason for Arya sending her Jon's address.Until Arya says that she sent Jon Sansa's as well.Until Jon shows up on her doorstep a year later.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 291





	A Soft Place to Land

**Author's Note:**

> Isn't it funny how sometimes you open a blank doc and a story you didn't even know was inside you comes crawling out?
> 
> That's what happened here.

**_SANSA_ **

Sansa had known, of course, that Jon lived in the city. Robb and Ned had mentioned it multiple times over the course of her move into her new apartment. _If you need anything, Jon’s in the city. He’s close._

She couldn’t imagine what she would ever need that she would have to go to Jon for. It wasn’t as if, back when he lived with them, they were close or anything. In fact, she was fairly positive that they never had a conversation with just the two of them. No, she had other friends in the city she would turn to if she needed anything. Or, she could always make the hour and a half drive back to her parents’. It wasn’t as if she was moving so far away. It was just from the village of Winterfell to the city center itself.

No, her calling on Jon really didn’t seem like something that seemed likely.

That was until Arya texted her on her first night in the city.

**Here’s Jon’s address in case you need it.**

Sansa scowled at the presumption that she would inevitably need Jon. That she wouldn’t be able to make it in the city on her own.

 _Thanks_.

She wanted to respond with more. With the irritation she felt about everything thinking she would need someone’s help. That she wouldn’t be able to live on her own. That she would need help in the city.

**I’ll send Jon yours. If you want. In case he needs it.**

That gave Sansa pause. Everyone else kept saying _if she needs Jon._ No one had considered the opposite. Again, she really didn’t know what situation might arise in which Jon would need her—that seemed as equally unlikely as her needing him. But at least there was an element of fairness in him having hers as well.

 _Sure_.

She sent her address with it, and even considered asking for Jon’s number as well. She’d had it when they were all in school and living in the same house, but when he moved out and got on his new plan, she never got an updated number. She supposed he probably had hers still, considering it never changed. If he needed to contact her, he could call or text or show up at her place. And maybe when he got Arya’s message, he would text her so that she had his as well.

Sansa stayed up a little while longer, thinking that maybe a text from Jon would come through, but she never got anything else, from either Jon or Arya.

During her first week, the fact that Jon had her number and her address was something that she actively thought about at multiple points. She wasn’t sure why—it wasn’t like she and Jon had ever been close. The only time they ever texted each other was for groceries or rides, back when they all shared a car. Maybe it was just the knowledge that he had the ability to reach out at point and she really didn’t. All she had was his address.

After the first week, the fact he had her new address receded in significance. By the end of the third week, the text with Jon’s address was lost in her thread with Arya.

After her first month, she had forgotten she even had Jon’s address.

-

Sansa was meant to be getting ready. It was coming up on her one-year anniversary of her moving into her apartment, her starting her job, and her friends were taking her out to celebrate. Mya had had a late meeting, so they had agreed to meet closer to ten, to give her time to eat and change.

Sansa had begun getting ready after she’d had dinner, but the text came in when she was halfway through her makeup.

**Still in meeting. Will have to reschedule. So sorry.**

_It’s fine. Maybe next week._

Sansa sighed, putting down her phone and looking at her reflection. She had managed to wing her eyeliner better than she had ever done before. She was disappointed that it would be wasted on a night in with Netflix and wine, but she understood. She had had to cancel nights out before because of meetings. There was really nothing that could be done.

Unwilling to wash off what she’d just done, Sansa instead finished applying her mascara. She took a few pictures of her eyeliner to post, mostly just to use as a reference when they actually did go out.

She sent the pictures to Mya and the other girls before pulling on a pair of pajamas, pouring herself a glass of wine, and curling up on the sofa with the new reality show that had just come out on Netflix.

-

Sansa woke up to her TV asking if she was still watching. Her empty wine glass was on the coffee table and the pillow bunched under her neck.

At first, she thought it was the quiet that had awoken her. Then she heard the knocking.

On instinct, Sansa checked her phone first. She thought maybe Mya was dropping by to make up for them not being able to go out, but Mya would’ve texted her first.

All of her texts were in response to the pictures she’d sent. There was nothing about anyone coming over.

She suddenly wished she had Jon’s number.

Sansa grabbed her phone and the shoe horn on the coatrack before looking through the peephole.

She immediately dropped the horn and threw open the door.

“ _Jon_?” she gasped, pulling him in.

He reeked of whiskey and beer, but that wasn’t what concerned Sansa.

What concerned her was the blood covering his face and shirt.

“What happened?”

He mumbled something incoherent.

Sansa dragged him into the bathroom and flicked the light on.

The fogginess she’d felt from the wine and falling asleep was gone as soon as she was his face.

She couldn’t control her gasp or the hand that flew to her mouth.

There was a gash above one eye, cutting into his brow. His other eye was blackened, and there was a bruise forming along his jaw. Blood streamed from his nose and his lip.

“Did you get in an accident? Are you hurt anywhere else? Do you need to go to the hospital?” she asked, finding herself reaching for his shirt.

“No, no,” he mumbled. “No hospitals.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

Sansa wet a cloth to try to clean up the blood, to figure out if it was as bad as it seemed. She’d put her other hand on his shoulder to steady him and, despite the situation, she was fully aware this was the first time she’d ever touched him.

“What happened?” she asked again, pushing his hair out of the way.

“Bar fight.”

She opened her mouth but what she wanted to say she couldn’t force out.

 _Why’d you come to me_?

She hadn’t spoken to or seen Jon since he moved out of the house five years ago. Even before that, they rarely spoke, but she had at least felt like she’d known things about him. She couldn’t say that now.

When they were kids, she could at least identify what were parts of his personality and what was him acting out. Now, she had no idea. Was him getting in a bar fight normal for him or had something happened? Was he provoked? What would provoke him to this? A girl? Some slight? She couldn’t say on any of it.

Jon was quiet as she cleaned his face, providing no more information than that he’d gotten into a bar fight. He wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were either closed or focused on the floor.

She wanted to ask if he was okay—more than physically—but she doubted he’d give a real answer. He’d been quiet as a kid and she doubted that changed.

Back then, on the rare instances that he did share his thoughts or feelings, it was always with Arya. Only with Arya. The only reason Sansa knew what was going on with him was because Arya would fill them all in.

When she first moved, Arya would occasionally fill her in with what was going on in Jon’s life, but in the recent months, a lot of those updates stopped. Sansa had always assumed that Arya had just given up with trying to get Sansa to connect with Jon, but she suddenly wondered if maybe Jon had stopped sharing with Arya.

“I got most of it off, but do you wanna maybe jump in the shower? There’s some blood in your hair. I can set something out for you.”

“Okay.”

He still didn’t look at her. He was looking past her, over her shoulder.

She set the bloodied cloth on the sink before getting a fresh towel and a pair of sweats that she’d stolen from her last boyfriend.

“Here. You can use whatever’s in there. I can run your clothes through the wash, when you’re done, if you want.”

“Sure.”

“Um. Okay. Um… Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay,” she murmured, passing him the towel and sweats. “The shower’s self-explanatory. Leave your clothes on the floor and I’ll throw them in.”

“Okay.”

Sansa nodded, feeling awkward, and ducked out of the bathroom.

In the kitchen, once she heard the shower start up, she called Arya.

“Do you know what time it is?” Arya answered, voice groggy.

“Oh. Um. No?”

When she’d checked her phone earlier, she hadn’t thought to look at the time.

“Nearly two.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. What’d you need?”

“Um, Jon just showed up here. He said he got in a bar fight?”

“He WHAT?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. He’s in the shower.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No. Is this something that happens often?”

“Bar fights? I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t really know. We haven’t talked a whole lot recently. I’d bet there’s something going on with him.”

 _No shit_ , Sansa thought. Something was obviously going on with him if he was showing up on _her_ doorstep at two in the morning fresh from a bar fight.

Sansa was going to respond, but she heard the shower shut off.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll text you in the morning?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Arya hung up before Sansa could say anything else, but the bathroom door opened in that moment, so it didn’t bother Sansa as much as it might have.

“Thanks for the sweats,” he said quietly, standing just beyond the door.

“Yeah,” Sansa said distractedly, moving closer to inspect his face. “Come here.” She pulled him back into the light of the bathroom. “That cut looks like it hurts.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged.

Aside from the gash, his face looked better than it had when he first showed up. It was really just the one cut above his eyebrow, a split lip, and a black eye. Without the bleeding, it didn’t look so dire.

“Here,” she offered, pulling a bandage from the medicine cabinet. Sansa gently pressed it over the cut. “I’ve got some leftovers from a few nights ago I could heat up? Dornish?”

“Nah, I’m not very hungry.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for patching me up. I can come by to pick up my clothes tomorrow?”

“Oh, you…Do you want to crash here? My sofa pulls out.”

“I… I call a cab. It’s fine. I’m feeling better.”

“It’s two in the morning. Cabs’ll be hard to find.”

“Oh. Right. I can walk. It’s not too far.”

“You live on the other side of town.”

His eyes flashed to hers for the first time.

“Arya gave me your address when I moved here.”

“Oh. Right.”

“It’s really fine. I haven’t got anything going on tomorrow or anything.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“I’ll get some blankets.”

Sansa pulled her extra blanket and pillows from the bathroom closet after throwing his clothes in and starting the washing machine.

“My room’s through there, if you need anything.”

Jon nodded, and Sansa turned to go to bed, but Jon’s hand caught hers.

“Thank you, Sansa.”

She squeezed his hand in response.

“Yeah, no problem.”

* * *

**_JON_ **

When Jon woke up, he forgot where he was. It wasn’t his place, that was for damn sure. It was far too nice for his place. It smelled too clean, too feminine.

It wasn’t until he saw the photo on the end table that he remembered the previous night.

He’d been at the bar with some guys from the shop.

He’d seen the group of guys come in.

Someone had bought a few rounds of shots.

He couldn’t remember what had gotten them from the bar to the alley, just that he was suddenly in the alley, throwing punches.

Someone had yelled that the bouncers were coming and everybody split.

He’d stumbled from the alley.

He remembered thinking when he got to the bar that Sansa’s apartment was on the same street.

He must’ve had enough thought that he was able to make it to hers.

He remembered her face when she opened the door, when she offered her sofa.

It filled him with sickening embarrassment. He literally showed up on her doorstep at his worst. He he’d never been close with Sansa, didn’t really know her the way he knew the other Starks. She wasn’t the one he would’ve normally run to.

He’d been so sure when Arya had given him Sansa’s address almost a year ago, he’d never actually use it. Certainly not for anything of this nature.

He could hear Sansa moving around in her room, and part of him was ready to run—to leave before he had to see her again—but his clothes were still in her wash and when he sat up, he felt a stiffness in his ribs. He knew if he lifted his shirt, he’d find bruises. It was painful to take a deep breath. He suspected that meant his actual ribs might be bruised, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Nor was it his first bar fight.

That was why he couldn’t let Sansa take him to the hospital last night. He’d been admitted twice in the same number of months, both times for fights.

He knew the hospital couldn’t really do much but patch him up, but he didn’t like the idea of them having proof of all of his fights on file, which was why he was trying to be safer, smarter. Not get as serious of injuries.

And he had been. Until last night.

Last night had been his worst in a while. Not as bad as the other two times that he’d ended up in the ER, but bad enough that he hadn’t been able to make it back to his.

Bad enough that he had to rely on Sansa.

When he tried to stand, he found that his idea to walk to his apartment seemed either impossible or terribly, terribly painful, which meant he would have to inconvenience Sansa for longer. He would have to have her eyes on him longer.

Those eyes—the look she’d given him last night. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Before last night, Jon hadn’t seen or talked to Sansa in about five years. He hadn’t thought about her often, if at all, aside from when Arya sent her address. But those eyes weren’t what he was expecting.

He remembered her as poised, polite. Her eyes had always seemed distant, detached. Like they belonged to a doll or an actor or something. Someone who wasn’t fully present or committed to the moment.

Those weren’t the eyes he saw last night.

Something must’ve changed in the last five years, because Sansa’s eyes were warm, and last night they had been concerned. Concerned for _him._ It shocked him. He didn’t understand it. Why she cared.

The Sansa he remembered from five years ago wouldn’t have cared. She would’ve opened the door, let him in, sure, but it would’ve been because they were almost family. He’d lived with them for years. He was best friends with two of her siblings. It wouldn’t have been simply for the concern of his wellbeing.

Jon was still lost in thought, lost in the concern that had been in her eyes, when Sansa’s bedroom door opened.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she said immediately. “I thought you might be sleeping in.”

Jon opened his mouth but he didn’t know what to say. He had never known what to say with her.

“I was going to throw your clothes in the dyer and make some breakfast. You hungry?”

He was, kind of, but he didn’t want to ask her for anything else. He didn’t want to owe her anything else.

Jon shrugged, forgetting about his ribs. He winced.

“Are you okay?” Sansa asked, suddenly beside him, her hand hovering near his chest.

Jon stared at her hand. He could feel the heat of it, even through his shirt. It was so close. All she would have to do is extend her fingers a little more and her hand would be on him.

He remembered her hand on his shoulder last night, at the gentleness of her touch, the softness.

He was shocked to realize that he wanted her to touch him. To reach out.

And yet, he held his breath, knowing that if he inhaled her fingers would graze him. He didn’t want it to be an accident, or for him to be the one to initiate contact. He needed it to be her.

Sansa’s hand fell and Jon exhaled.

“Fine,” he muttered.

“Are you sure about not going to a hospital?”

“Yeah.”

Especially since his insurance lapsed about a month ago and he hadn’t done anything about it.

“Maybe you should stay here. Just in case. I can drive you home tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” It slipped out before he could stop it.

“Do you have stuff going on today?”

She asked it like him having plans wouldn’t have surprised her.

“No,” he admitted. He rarely had plans anymore.

“I’ll drive you home tomorrow then. What’re you hungry for?” she asked, walking away from him, towards where the laundry must be.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Jon knew that Sansa was right and staying there until tomorrow was probably a good idea. He knew he’d probably just pop a few pain killers and sleep the rest of the day if he went to his place. It wasn’t the healthiest, but neither was getting into bar fights or sleeping off hangovers half the weekend.

Really, most of his behaviors from the past few months weren’t exactly healthy.

But the idea of spending all day with Sansa—in her apartment—was at the same time thrilling and terrifying. He couldn’t remember the last time he spent that much time with just one person.

Well—no. That wasn’t true.

He remembered perfectly.

It was months ago, before all of his bad habits from high school started creeping back—the fighting, drinking, sleeping all day. Going through the motions. Acting like everything was going to blow up and he was ready to let it burn.

It’s what he did when he left the village of Winterfell for the city. Burned his bridges so he couldn’t go back.

Except the Starks—that was the only bridge he didn’t burn.

* * *

**_SANSA_ **

Sansa brought a bottle of ibuprofen out with her after she switched over his laundry. She’d noticed the way he winced before and knew he must be in pain.

“I’ll grab you some water,” she offered, setting the bottle on the end table closest to him.

In the morning light, he looked paler than she expected, with violet crescents under his eyes. She’d thought he looked bad last night, covered in blood, but somehow this was almost worse.

Now she could see all of the lines on his face and she knew instantly that the last five years had not been easy for him.

Not that they were really easy for her either, but she didn’t think her hardships were displayed so clearly on her face.

Sansa filled a glass with water, bringing it back to him.

He was quieter, she thought, than he had been back then. Not that she would know, but he seemed quieter.

“Can I ask… What happened last night?”

“Bar fight,” he answered bluntly.

“But… _why?_ What happened?”

He paused, looking away.

“I-I don’t remember.”

If he was someone else, Sansa might’ve pressed it. She might’ve asked more questions. But it was Jon and he looked so damn tired that she didn’t.

“Do you want coffee?” she asked instead.

“I—Yeah. Thanks.”

She got up, thankful. She needed to do something with her hands. She needed to not be so close to him because all she wanted to do was hold him.

Sansa had known Jon’s life was hard, even way back when. Even when he came to live with them, he still had to endure more than she was probably aware of. She remembered all the fights he got into in high school and how he’d sometimes take the car in the middle of night. Her room was above the garage, so she always heard him sneak out and back in sometime around dawn.

Back then it always pissed her off—not just because it woke her up every time—because she always assumed he’d been sneaking out to go hook up with some girl. He’d had a reputation for being a bit of a player back in high school so that was what made sense to her.

Now, with him sitting on her pullout, she wondered if maybe that wasn’t the case.

Maybe a lot of things she thought she knew about him weren’t actually the case.

She really didn’t know him all that well before, so it really shouldn’t surprise her, but it did. Maybe because she always thought that he was not that complicated. She thought he was angry at the world and not much else. But maybe the fact that he was angry at the world meant that there was so much more there.

After a quiet, somewhat awkward breakfast, Sansa got in the shower. She thought, with Jon out of sight, her thoughts might drift to work, where they tended to stay, but she couldn’t get him out of her mind.

She was worried about him, she realized. More than just whether he was okay, but deeper. If he’s mentally, emotionally okay. She doubted that she he was and she had no idea what to do with that.

It was then that she remembered a similar time in high school. One she had completely forgotten about before now.

She’d been a sophomore, which meant Jon would’ve been a junior. She’d been home sick for a week with strep throat. She’d pretty much spent the entire week curled up on the sofa watching 90s sitcoms and taking antibiotics.

_It was the third day of her being home, she recalled, when she heard the garage door go up and the door slam thirty seconds later. The sound of the heavy boots stomping through the kitchen told her immediately who it was._

_“Oh, shit. I forgot you were home,” he said as soon as he saw her._

_“Yeah,” she rasped. “Are you sick too?” Because fifteen-year-old Sansa couldn’t think of another reason why Jon would come home in the middle of a Wednesday._

_“Nope. Suspended.”_

_Sansa wanted to ask what for but she wasn’t close to Jon so she didn’t._

_“Oh.”_

_“I can go somewhere else.”_

_Sansa looked over at him. He’d sat in one of the kitchen chairs to unlace his boots, but she saw how he started doing them back up. As if he assumed that she’d want him out of the house. As if she didn’t want to be alone with him._

_“No.”_ You don’t have to leave, _she wanted to say, but it hurt to speak, so she stuck with just the single syllables._

_Sansa turned back to her show then, thinking that Jon would probably go up to his room. That’s where he spent the most of his time, usually._

_She could hear him moving around the kitchen, putting his shoes away, making lunch, probably. She kept thinking she would hear him go up the stairs, but instead she saw him come around the side of the sofa._

_“Do you mind if I hang out in here?” He had his hood pulled up so that she could barely see his face._

_“No.”_

_Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sit in the recliner furthest from her and focus on the TV._

_She thought he might ask to watch something else or get bored and leave. Or even fall asleep. But he stayed and watched with her until the garage door opened again._

_Over dinner Sansa learned that Jon had been suspended for the rest of the week. She thought that meant that she would have to surrender her position on the sofa and the remote, or at least share it, but he surprised her._

_She was already awake and a few episodes into her show when he came down the next morning._

_“You can put something on after this episode,” she offered when he sat down in the same recliner as yesterday._

_“It’s fine.”_

_They spent the entire day watching the show, and Friday they did the same._

_They barely spoke the entirety of the two and a half days, and come Monday morning they were both back at school like those few days never happened._

When Sansa got out of the shower, she pulled on some sweats and braided her wet hair. She’d been planning on a lounge day anyway, especially since she had thought she’d be hungover, but something about having Jon there made it feel…more. More than just lounging around the apartment.

But they’d done it before, she reminded herself.

Sansa decided that the easiest way to spend the day would be watching TV, probably. It wouldn’t require any talking and it wouldn’t make Jon feel like he was imposing.

“Do you mind if I put something on?” she asked, sitting on the sofa that he must’ve folded back in while she was in the shower. She wondered if it had hurt, given how he’d winced earlier.

“No.”

She had planned on just selecting something at random, nothing she was going to be super invested in, but then she saw the same 90s sitcom she remembered watching with him in high school. She flipped through the seasons until she found her favorite one—the one that focused more on the best friend and everything that was going on in his life.

She tried not to watch him, to see if he recognized the show, if he remembered the same few days that were similar to today.

* * *

**_JON_ **

Jon had not expected Sansa to actually spend the day with him. He definitely thought that she would do some work in her room, or the kitchen, or something. The last thing he thought she’d do was sit on the other end of the sofa. It made him infinitely grateful that he’d managed, with some grunting, to fold it back together for her.

Truthfully, he wanted to bolt still. His muscles were coiled, tensing the way they did before every single fight he got into. Everything about the situation, about relying on someone, on her, made him uncomfortable.

With the exception of a few months ago, before everything blew up, Jon hadn’t spent this long just hanging out with someone since he moved out of the Stark house.

He knew that was at least part of it, but he also knew part of it was that it was Sansa and the fact that he’d never spent that long with her.

Even as kids, they had very little in common. They used to carpool to school together, and once he had his license, he was sure he probably drove her to a school dance or the library at least once. But a whole day? That’s something else entirely.

At least she offered to put something on TV. He couldn’t imagine them trying to find something to talk about for the rest of the day.

Jon had fully planned on just zoning out and not actually watching whatever Sansa put on until the theme music started.

He remembered this show. It was one of the few things that both Arya and Sansa had enjoyed watching, if he remembered correctly. Though he wasn’t sure if either of them knew that. As far as he knew, they never sat down and watched it together, but he remembered seeing it on the TV quite often at the Stark house.

He actually had kind of liked the show too. He had sat down and watched it more than once when it was on. Even after he moved out, he remembered finding reruns on a couple of times and actually getting sucked in.

It wasn’t until the third episode that Jon realized why it felt so familiar.

He and Sansa had watched this same season together when they were in high school. She’d been out sick with the flu or something and he’d been suspended for fighting. Again.

He didn’t remember them talking or anything, but he remembered thinking that it was nice to have someone else in the house with him. It didn’t feel quite so much like a punishment.

He’d forgotten about that.

_About how pissed off he’d been when he’d gotten back to the Stark house. Of course, he’d been pissed—he’d been suspended for the rest of the week, and him being pissed led him to getting into that fight in the first place. He was always pissed off back then, but there were days that were harder than others. Ones where he woke up itching for a fight._

_He remembered that that day had been one like that, but he couldn’t remember how the fight started or who it had been with it._

_What he did remember is how tense he was when he walked into the house and saw Sansa there. If it had been Arya or Robb, they could’ve joked about his busted face and then play video games for the rest of the day. Even Bran, though he was younger, would’ve been easier than Sansa._

_All he had wanted to do was smash buttons on a controller and get the rest of the tension out, but Sansa was sick and it was her house and he felt bad kicking her off the TV._

_But going to his room felt more isolating. He didn’t want to be alone._

_“Do you mind if I hang out in here?” he asked after he shuffled around the kitchen, randomly opening and closing cabinets, trying to get the courage to ask her. To draw up the walls to handle her saying that she didn’t want him in there with her._

_“No.”_

_He walked the long way around to the chair furthest from her, where she wouldn’t be able to see his face. Settling into the chair, Jon focused on the screen, trying so hard to ignore that Sansa was also in the room with him._

_A few episodes later, before everyone else came home, he felt the weight that was always crushing his chest lighten for what felt like the first time._

Jon felt the same pressure lessening now. It was like he could breathe deeply for the first time in weeks. Like he finally exhaled all that stale air that had been sitting in the bottom of his lungs for months.

Even with his bruised ribs, it was the best he’d felt in too long.

-

“I had such a crush on this character,” Sansa said suddenly, a few episodes later. “I think he’s the first, like, character or celebrity crush, whatever, that I had.”

Her voice alone had startled him—he’d almost forgotten where he was.

“I always wanted him to end up with the girl. I was so mad that it ended without him getting a happily ever after,” she continued.

Jon watched the character she was talking about on screen. It was the episode where the character she was talking about found a purse and fell in love with whoever owned all the contents.

He didn’t know what to say, partially because this was Sansa and this conversation was so different from any he’d ever had, with anyone.

But also, because that was the character he most identified with.

Fucked up family? Check.

Spends more time with his best friend’s family than his own? Check.

Hotheaded and angry and bitter? Check.

Gets in fights? Check.

Feels empty inside half the time and completely lost the other half? Check.

Hell, he was pretty sure he even dressed similarly in high school.

“He’s always been my favorite character too,” Jon admitted.

“Really?”

Even from the corner of his eye, Jon saw how her entire face lit up. It almost made him smile.

“Everyone thinks him crazy for wanting them to have ended up together, and I get it, but, like, he needs a family and stability and she could’ve given that to him! And he always feels like he’s everyone’s second choice—that’s clear in the wedding episode—but her _choosing_ him? Can you imagine what that would’ve done for him?” she said in a rush.

Jon never thought about that—about being everyone’s second choice. He had no idea what wedding episode she was talking about, but he could definitely imagine how someone choosing him over someone else would make him feel.

He got that.

“You don’t think she’s too good for him?” he asked. He thought something in his voice might have given him away—how emotionally attached he might have been to this character.

“Not at all! He never put her on a pedestal like everyone else did. He saw the real her and she saw the real him. They belonged together.”

“But they’re so in love…”

“But can you imagine if she’d met him first? If things had worked out just a little differently? Change, like, two story points, and they work perfectly.”

Jon didn’t know the show as well as she did, but as they continued watching, he could see it, what she was talking about.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the same were true for him. If he’d met Jeyne in high school instead of Robb. If he’d stuck around long enough with any of the girls to create a connection.

If his only serious relationship hadn’t ended when the idea of getting hurt—of getting left—had caused him to make it implode.

If maybe he wouldn’t feel so empty all the time.

* * *

**_SANSA_ **

“Is frozen pizza okay? Otherwise I’ve got…um… Pasta.”

“Pizza is fine.”

Sansa heard Jon pause the episode while she put the pizza in the oven and set the timer. They were halfway through the next season, at the Christmas episode.

She kept explaining her theories to him through all the episodes, hoping she wasn’t annoying him, but he didn’t seem annoyed. He was actually talking to her about them and asking questions.

It was enough that she no longer felt super awkward about having him there.

-

They stayed up late watching the show, curled up on separate ends of the sofa. Sansa could feel how as the day progressed it got easier. They were chatting like friends by the time Sansa got up to brush her teeth. The idea of suddenly not seeing or talking to him for years again was almost disappointing.

Even as she laid in bed that night, after getting him situated on the pullout, she was still thinking about him.

Ever since he showed up on her doorstep yesterday night, she’s pretty sure he’s all she’s thought about.

She kept wondering what made him come to her. He could’ve gone to a friend’s house or caught a cab if he had the wherewithal to find her apartment that he’d never been to.

Why show up on her doorstep?

Unless…

Unless he didn’t want to be alone. Unless he wanted some semblance of home.

If she was feeling as poorly as he did last night, she’d probably want something safe and comforting too.

She supposed that had to be the reason—that she reminded him of home, of Winterfell.

Sansa had done something similar last year—when she hadn’t gotten a promotion she’d been hoping for—she’d left work at the end of the day and drove straight to her parents’ house. She stayed there for the whole weekend, running errands with Catelyn and just generally behaving like she was still in high school.

Was that what Jon was doing? Acting like he was still in high school? Getting in fights and coming to the closest thing he had to home for comfort?

Sansa had done it when something had happened at work—was that what happened with Jon?

She knew Arya had said they hadn’t spoken about anything serious in a few months. Maybe that was it.

When she went home, she had immediately poured her heart out to Catelyn, crying about the job and drinking hot chocolate. She spent the rest of the weekend healing after having gotten it all out.

Jon hadn’t done that. And if he wasn’t talking to Arya, maybe he wasn’t talking to anyone. She doubted he would’ve told Robb, given he and Jeyne were currently dealing with their six-month-old.

Sansa had only said good night to Jon a half hour ago. She wondered if he was still awake. If he would talk to her.

Under the pretense of getting water, Sansa slid out of bed and opened her door. She kept her eyes from immediately drifting to Jon the way they wanted to.

It wasn’t until she crossed back, glass of water in hand, that she looked at the pullout.

Jon was awake.

“Do you need anything?” she asked, pausing halfway across the living room. He sat up, looking at her.

“No. Thanks.”

“Do you, um…” She perched on the chair that half faced the sofa. “Do you want to talk? Arya said you’ve been a little MIA recently.”

His eyes flashed to hers and she thought it almost felt like a challenge, but that might have been because this was the most eye contact they’d made since he showed up yesterday.

She didn’t blink regardless.

“I don’t know why I got in that fight, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 _You must_ , she wanted to say. Who gets in a fight without knowing why? But that wasn’t entirely what she was talking about.

“Why’d you go MIA on Arya?”

“We still talk.”

“Does she know what’s going on with you?”

Jon looked away.

“Does anyone? Mom, Dad?”

“ _Your_ mom and dad, you mean?”

The air was sucked from the room and Sansa could see the regret in his eyes as soon as he said it.

She wanted to get up, to cross to the pullout, to hold him, but his shoulders hunched and face as guarded as she ever saw it.

“I-I didn’t…” she stuttered, because how was she was supposed to respond to that?

Jon had come to live with them when he was in middle school. How was it her fault that her parents were hers and not his?

“Forget it,” he muttered, leaning back against the pullout.

The urge to reach out and touch him was so strong that Sansa sat on her hand that wasn’t holding her water.

“About six months ago,” she started, thinking maybe if she opened up to him, he might do the same. “I got passed up for a promotion. One I thought I was going to get. I was…heartbroken. I drove straight home. I stayed all weekend because it didn’t feel like such a big deal there. Not like it did here.”

To her shock, Jon snorted.

It was a bitter sound. One that reverberated around the apartment.

“You think this is a work thing?” he asked.

The harsh laugh irritated her. Him having issues at work was a reasonable guess. It was a logical one. It wasn’t like she had a lot more to go off of.

“Tell me what it is then,” she bit out.

* * *

**_JON_ ** ****

“Tell me what it is then,” Sansa said.

When he laughed at her, he fully expected her to break, to crumble. The last thing he thought was that her jaw would set, her face harden.

The flinty way she looked at him…was kind of hot, actually.

He’d never seen her look like that before.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

None of them would understand. None of them could. Robb or Arya would be sympathetic, but they wouldn’t really get it.

They couldn’t, could they? They grew up in that house, with their parents, with each other.

He’s never had any of that. Even when he moved into the Stark house, it was different. They renovated what had been Ned’s home office for his room. They had to make space for him everywhere. He didn’t fit in naturally.

“Try me.”

He stared at her, at the look on her face. She didn’t blink. She actually raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to respond.

He took a deep breath.

“Did Arya tell you I was seeing someone?” he asked. He forced his voice to soften. It wasn’t Sansa’s fault.

“I—Yeah. She mentioned it.”

“I never mentioned…how I grew up. Living at your house. It was nice to be thought of as…normal. Then we started getting serious…and I never told her. Then she said she wanted to meet my parents.”

Jon closed his eyes, remembering how his whole body flashed cold at the words. The prospect of breaking the truth to her was too much. He couldn’t tell her that he’d lied this entire time.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“I-I said I wasn’t ready. That I didn’t think we were there yet. It turned into this huge blow up…” _And I walked out._

He left, because he was sure she was going to.

That’s what he did when he left the Stark house.

He’d gone to the college in town and got his degree and everything while living with them, but at his graduation Ned asked what he was going to do now that he graduated.

It was probably meant innocently, what job was he going to get, or what his plans were.

That’s not how Jon took it.

He thought it meant it was time to get out. Time to leave before he was kicked out.

So, he burnt every relationship that would’ve kept him in town, except for the Starks because they didn’t deserve that, after everything they’d done for him. He moved to the city, got a job, a shitty little apartment, and tried to fill that hole that gnawed at him.

And he did, for a while. Until she started asking about his parents and the urge to bolt overwhelmed him.

“Is… Was that a few months ago?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she whispered.

He looked over, glancing at her. He expected pity. Instead he saw concern.

He shrugged it off.

“Jon? Why’d you come here?”

He thought it was because he couldn’t get himself back across town. That’s what he told himself.

It wasn’t the truth.

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

It almost hurt to force the words out.

He’d never said them out loud. Nothing like this. Nothing as honest as that. Even before everything imploded, he was never that honest.

Jon pulled his arms more tightly around his stomach. That hole was opening up again.

The pullout dipped beside him and Sansa was suddenly next to him.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered, wrapping her hand around his.

He started at the warmth, the softness of her hand.

It almost broke him.

Without saying anything or letting go of his hand, Sansa grabbed the remote and turned the TV show they’d spent all day watching back on.

She didn’t say anything else, and neither did he.

He just sat, holding her hand, and breathing deeply.

-

Jon must’ve fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes, the TV asked if they were still watching. He turned and saw Sansa curled up beside him, fast asleep. He could feel the warmth from her lying so close.

It sent his heart racing.

He hadn’t been this close to anyone in months, aside from the fights.

It hadn’t been this easy to breathe since before he left the Stark house.

And that was more terrifying than anything else.

It was too good, too gentle. Too easy to breathe.

He had to get out.

Jon slid off the pullout as quietly as he could, slipped on his shoes, and tiptoed out the door.

* * *

**_SANSA_ **

When Sansa opened her eyes, she knew instantly something was different. Off.

The space beside her was empty. Jon’s shoes were gone.

He must’ve woken up in the middle of the night and left.

She wondered if she pushed him too far last night. If maybe talking about it wasn’t the best thing.

If he’d wanted to talk about it, he could’ve talked to Robb or Arya, or one of his friends he’d made since moving to the city.

No, she clearly should have left him alone. Him leaving made that glaringly obvious.

-

Sansa had no idea what to do with her Sunday. She had kind of thought now that she’d be spending the day with Jon, but that wasn’t an option anymore.

She supposed there was some work she could do. There was always work she could do.

She opened her laptop with that intention, but within ten minutes she realized she did not have the mental capacity to focus on anything.

Instead, she turned on the TV, the same show they had fallen asleep watching last night. The idea of picking up where the left off made her sad, so she went back a few seasons. To the episodes that every time, without fail, made her cry.

She figured it gave her a good excuse to let out the tears she felt building anyway.

It was the one where the character she thought she was in love with as a kid nearly lost everything. The one where he emotionally breaks down for one of the first times in the show.

Near the end of the finale episode of the arc, at the emotional climax, during the character’s big speech, two lines struck her: _I don’t do alone real good_ and _I don’t wanna be empty inside anymore_.

It reminded her of what Jon said last night: _I didn’t want to be alone._

Sansa fiercely wiped the tears that streaked down her cheeks.

She watched as the main character came in and held his best friend. As the main character’s father stood up for her favorite character, who had kept insisting through the duration the episode, of the show really, that he was fine. He didn’t need anyone.

Except he so clearly did.

When he tried to pull away, everyone who cared about him fought to keep him. Fought for him.

They wrapped their arms around him and didn’t let go until he admitted that he needed it.

In that moment, Sansa saw the similarities between Jon and the character. The attitude, the fighting, the home life, even the way they dressed. The way he seemed to toe the line between being good and embracing the bad boy life he seemed determined to lead. The way he didn’t know if he was actually good or not.

Her crush on the character had developed around the same time Jon had moved in and the idea of him and the female lead getting together developed soon after that too.

The female lead, who came from a stable life, who wanted a high-powered job but a home and a family too. Who had ideals she clung to, even when life should have broken them.

Who was also the character she identified most with.

Sansa paused the show, her head spinning.

She’d… Had a crush on Jon? This entire time?

She remembered how she felt holding his hand last night. How she felt in high school, when he spent those days he was suspended. The electricity she felt. Back then she interpreted it as tension, because they didn’t know each other well.

Was it actually something more?

Had it always been?

She tried to imagine how she would have felt if Jon had showed up the other night with different intentions. If he hadn’t been a mess.

If he’d kissed her when she opened the door.

She blushed at the idea and butterflies filled her stomach.

She remembered the only other meaningful interaction she’d had with Jon before he moved out.

_It was just before he officially moved out, a couple days after his graduation. She’d been on her way out, probably on a date. She remembered that she’d gotten a new dress specifically for it._

_Whoever was picking her up had honked, because she could recall every detail of walking out of the front door. The way the sun had sunk far enough that the sky was orange. The way her heels sounded on the wood of the porch._

_The way Jon’s voice startled her._

_She hadn’t seen him coming up the walkway._

_“Waste of a dress on a prick that honks,” he’d said._

_She remembered that she’d flushed at the comment. She remembered that his voice was gruff, gravely._

_She hadn’t commented, just continued down the path and got in the car._

_The entire date, she kept thinking of Jon, of what he said. How it was a waste of a dress._

_At the end of the night, when she was kissed goodnight, she imagined stubble burning her chin and curls beneath her fingers. Not cleanshaven and a buzzcut._

At the time, Sansa had thought that she’d blushed because she was embarrassed about the comment, that whoever it was had honked. Not because Jon had actually been giving her a compliment. She’d thought that her disappointment with the kiss was because the date had just kind of sucked, and not because she was actually attracted to someone else.

To Jon.

Sansa was off the pullout and out the door before she could think.

* * *

**_JON_ ** ****

The knocking jarred him from his sleep. Groggily, he pushed himself up, squinting first at the door, then his phone.

He had no texts, and usually when one of the guys came over, they texted first.

It wasn’t even ten in the morning. Who the hell was knocking?

He got up, wincing at the pain in his ribs and the sight of the busies as he passed the mirror. If he had been any more awake, he might’ve put on a shirt to hide all the marks.

Jon opened the door and instantly regretted not putting something on—a shirt, pants, anything so that he wasn’t standing in front of Sansa in only his underwear.

“Sans—”

The rest of her name was crushed out of him when her arms wrapped around his waist.

He felt her face press against his chest, her hands on his back.

“Wha—?” he tried to ask, but Sansa tightened her grip. “What’re you doing?” he finally got out.

Sansa didn’t answer.

His heart pounded in his chest. Her arms were around him, her body flushed to his.

It wasn’t so much the feeling of her skin against his, but more the fact she wasn’t letting go. Even after the duration of a normal hug long passed, she didn’t let go.

She didn’t let go.

She didn’t let go and Jon exhaled, his own arms winding around her. Holding on because _she didn’t let go._

She didn’t let go.

Sansa didn’t let go.

Not until he did, and even then, she only backed up enough so that he could look at her.

“You left this morning.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth, but how could he explain? _It was too easy to breathe_ made zero fucking sense, even to him.

And he didn’t have the courage to say _I was terrified._

“I would’ve driven you, if you’d woken me up,” she offered when he didn’t say anything.

“I know.”

She clung to him again, holding him so tightly he thought he might break.

He thought he maybe he needed to.

Maybe he’d been holding it together so long only because he thought no one else would.

Because, before, if he broke, he was the only one who could pick up the pieces, and how could he if he was broken?

He felt Sansa’s hand move on his back, rubbing it, and he crumbled.

All of those feelings he tried so hard not to feel floated to the surface. The bitterness, the anger, the hollowness, the _loneliness_ that was so constant. The weariness at trying to keep it all away.

And Sansa held him through it all.

-

“Why’d you come?” Jon asked sometime later, after they’d moved to the couch. Sansa was still curled against him, her head on his shoulder and her arm around his waist.

He found it was easier to ask that question with his chin on top her head, where she couldn’t see his face.

“Because I knew you needed it.”

“How’d you know?” _I didn’t even know,_ he thought.

“Because I… I think I know you.”

He almost laughed at that but he didn’t want her to pull away so he swallowed it.

“I… I also wanted to tell you something.”

His blood ran cold. Nothing good ever followed those words.

She started to pull away and the air in his lungs turned stale.

She didn’t break contact entirely and that was his only saving grace.

“I just wanted to tell you this—mostly for my own peace of mind. I don’t expect you to respond at all.”

“Okay,” he breathed, exhaling the last of the air.

“I… I like you, Jon.”

If he’d had anything left in his lungs, he wouldn’t after that.

He always thought she grudgingly put up with him, because she had to. This weekend was the first time he ever had reason to think otherwise.

“Oh… I… What?”

“I like you. I think I might have liked you for years.”

It suddenly struck him that maybe— _maybe_ —he hadn’t quite understood what she meant the first time.

“Like…?” he repeated. He needed to know what she meant.

He expected her to say _you’re not as awful as I thought you were_. To compare him to Robb. Say she saw him as a brother.

He did not expect her to kiss him.

To slide her fingers through his hair.

To deepen the kiss and lean into him fully until they tipped back on the couch.

“Sorry,” she muttered, breaking away and rising on her elbows. He was pressed against the cushions, Sansa fully on top of him. “I didn’t mean…”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and bit her lip, looking suddenly bashful.

Jon sucked in a breath and the air reaching the bottoms of his lungs almost made him dizzy. He blamed what he did next on that lightheadedness.

He kissed her, threading his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer.

It was everything he never knew he needed.

She was everything he never knew he wanted.

She was everything.

“Your ribs,” she gasped suddenly, scrambling off. Jon hadn’t even felt them.

“It’s fine.”

Jon sat up too, and immediately felt the bruises.

The pain wasn’t bad though, because for the first time he wasn’t seeking it out to fill the emptiness.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t empty.


End file.
